The Risk Agent

44

4:40 P.M.

HONG KONG

Two employees of Rutherford Risk met Knox, Grace and David Dulwich at Signature Flight Support’s private terminal at Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok airport. They were quickly processed through immigration and then herded into a black Mercedes. Dulwich and Knox were dropped at the nearby Princess Margaret Hospital. Knox’s Super-Glued wound was examined; he received an antibiotic injection and was given a prescription. He waited there for word on Dulwich.

Grace went home to unpack and clean up. The chauffeur popped the trunk and walked behind the car.

“It is okay,” Grace said. “I have no luggage.”

“The gentleman said to give you this, miss,” the driver called over to her.

He pulled a Nike duffel from the trunk and delivered it to the curb at Grace’s feet.

“And this,” he said, reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a red envelope.

“Thank you,” she said, dumbfounded. She had nothing to offer as a gratuity. The driver shut the trunk, unfazed, smiled and returned behind the wheel and drove off.

Grace found her throat dry, her limbs tingling. She opened the envelope and pulled out his note to her.

For Lu Hao.

Face.

No signature. She bent to take the duffel by the strap and remembered the weight of it as she hoisted it onto her shoulder. Had forgotten all about it. Had no idea-none whatsoever, how Knox could have possibly come up with it. But the note left little doubt. It had to be him.

She lugged it into the elevator and up to her apartment, placed it on the floor and sat on the couch and stared at it. The sobs rose up from her chest and through her clenched throat, and out her eyes to where she hung her head into her palms. All the events of the past week came up like oil from a well, a release that left her exhausted and elated and hungry.

She never unzipped the duffel, never confirmed its contents. She called Lu Hao at his hotel and asked to pay him a visit. He invited her over.